Writings, observations and ideas either caused by or meant to induce a minor disruption.

Monday, August 15, 2011

The Feast

Leaves, now you can let go of your chlorophyll. Stores, start your back to school sales. Sports fans begin debating Super Bowl odds for the Giants and the Jets. Let the early evenings get dark. Summer is now fading into her final weeks because Jersey City has held its annual festival, The Feast (or La Festa Italiano for the sticklers). Here’s a website.

I have written about this event every summer, been going for about as long as I’ve been here in Downtown. I hate to repeat myself so for other coverage, go to the month of August for 2009 and 2010 to find out more background.

Everybody calls it The Feast. It’s a five day street fair on 6th street, food, music, food games and did I mention food. Community manifests itself. I go about four nights usually, always have fun and always meet friends and neighbors again. For those who are J.C. born and bred – which I am not – the Feast can be a little more intense, or emotional. Not in a bad way at all, just the nostalgia gets thicker than the Jersey accents. It’s rather… joyous.

This year, while excellent as always, they seemed even better, a little more fluffy. Best ever!!!

I always order two at a time, one with sauce, one without. I can never decide which style is the most pure Rice Ball experience.

The “gravy” is fantastic of course, but does it overwhelm or enhance the Rice Ball’s reason for being: rice and romano cheese, which encloses a dollop or meat and peas and which itself is encased in breadcrumbs and fried to a golden brown. I don’t expect to solve the sauce or no sauce riddle but by next August I do expect to ponder the comparison again.

So my buddy Tony informed me that the proper name is Arancini, which is Italian for orange. They resemble oranges you see. Romantic languages usually submit to the gradational pull of the poetic. I accused him of using a food network word, but he swears that is what they call them in Italy.

Although he’s been to Italy, we have to yet to verify if he ate a rice ball there. I never heard them call that. Maybe I don’t like the idea of Italians having a word for orange that rhymes. Just not right. Unfair even.

So, I asked around and somebody told me that yes, the older timers sometimes did refer to as Arancini.

This picture is rare. The indoor and outdoor rice ball women together during the Feast. These two sides of the annual Operation Rice Ball usually don't see other for days.

Thousands were rolled and fried and sold. They roll them in the Kitchen of the rectory, have runners carry them out to the stand, where they are fried fresh. Freshness is what they’re all about.

A woman standing near me on line remarked, the san generrao festival everything is frozen before it’s fried, not fresh like this. That’s what makes them so good, I believe, the freshness, said Katy.

She was taught the rice ball trade by the original Aunt Mary, who brought the rice balls to the Feast. They used to only make a few a day, maybe two dozen, but as The Feast grew and their reputation spread, that number is well into the hundreds. They’re Sicilian. My family is from Naples, so we just called them Rice Balls. That’s what Mary called them too, nobody calls them Arancini.

Right on!

I prefer them without the sauce, she confided
A woman standing near me on line remarked, the san generrao festival everything is frozen before it’s fried, not fresh like this. That’s what makes them so good, I believe, the freshness, said Katy.

She was taught the rice ball trade by the original Aunt Mary, who brought the rice balls to the Feast. They used to only make a few a day, maybe two dozen, but as The Feast grew and their reputation spread, that number is well into the hundreds. They’re Sicilian. My family is from Naples, so we just called them Rice Balls. That’s what Mary called them too, nobody calls them Arancini.

Right on!

I prefer them without the sauce, she confided.

Jeremiah Healy, the 44th Mayor of Jersey City. No entourage or police escort. He was talking to people and was recognized, campaigning he was not. He seemed to be enjoying The Feast, like he probably has been doing every summer since his Jersey City boyhood. He’s a decent man. I love living in a city where you on your way to the Rice Ball stand you can say howdy to the mayor.

Broccoli Rabe. There’s a lot of great food and I have written about the immortal splendor of Rice Balls elsewhere in this blog, but this stand I visited twice. I love broccoli rabe, which is kind of like an Italian version of Collard Greens, expect with little florets amongst the leaves of greenery. They prepare it fresh. I had it with dried tomatoes, tomato salad and a slice of fresh mozzarella. Awesome. B.R. is almost always great, but this was prepared the way I like it best, a olive oil and garlic delivery system disguised as a leafy vegetable.

The B Street Band opened up the five day street fair. The world’s leading Bruce Springsteen Cover Band.

I remember Howard Stern saying how he would rather interview the leader of this band than the Boss himself. I see his point. We’ve seen countless interviews with Bruce about Bruce, but do we really know what compels someone to be a human Bruce Jukebox.

Their musicianship is impressive. these cats can play, but that talent is surpassed by a more idiosyncratic skill – their astonishing level of commitment to precisely reproducing the sound of New Jersey’s favorite Rock & Roll son.

During a fantastic, note-for-note rendition of 10th Avenue Freeze Out, a poignancy rippled through air – just after the “Big man joined the band” lyric as the sax solo, a perfect clone of the Clarence spotlight, issued forth. The moment was funny and sad, ironic and honest.

The vast majority of the folks here have seen Bruce, more than likely with E-Street, and probably at the Meadowlands. That’s a pretty good bet. So at first, the response to the big man lyric and sax solo seems like a scripted, even programmed burst of cheers. This band re-creates the Bruce experience to an audience all too eager to participate. Together they make the Bruce experience happen during a street festival far from the arenas and stadiums.

The recent loss of Clarence cuts deep and throughout our culture the wound is not just tender, but fresh. The programmed response to the perfectly rendered lyric + sax took on an emotion so refreshingly genuine that no matter how planned or expected, it felt spontaneous.

We miss you Clarence. Thanks for the Music, Big Man.

The Colassurdo family are a major nucleus of the Feast (here’s a history), their grandfather being one of the first organizers. The feast is a fund raiser for the Parish of the Resurrection, a Roman Catholic Church on 6th street. The family’s booth is known for its shots of Lemoncello (prepared here), wines and peaches and the woman pictured here who are dancing constantly. Hanging out here is a blast. This lull is uncommon. They look ready.

My buddy Darren brought his kids to the Feast again (click here), for the second year in a row. They live in Bergen County. The games and the bouncy rides were all located on Brunswick. This year, they all won toys, which took about $30 worth of tries but a stuffed blue shark and caterpillar for a six year old, priceless.

Major Feast development this year – the unveiling of a new statue. For all its celebration of everything Italian – and by everything, we mean food because somehow the warmth of family and fellowship seems to emanate from or is at least connected to eating – the Feast revolves around the Feast of the Assumption.

This is Catholic feast day for the Virgin Mother, who was assumed – Body & Soul – into Heaven. Mystical theology aside, the festival concludes with a Mass and a procession on August 15th, the day of the Assumption. A statue of the Blessed Mother is carried by parishioners as they march through the streets of downtown, basically around the bock weather permitting. They’ve been doing this since the Feast began, nearly a century ago.

For all these years, the statue leading the procession, while of the Mother of Jesus, was a different incarnation than the holy day holiday. She’s Our Lady of Grace (on the left), not Our Lady of the Assumption (on the right).

This year, Maria S.S. (“santissima”) Dell'Assunta Society, which means Mary Most Holy of the Assumption Society, the organization behind the feast oh so many decades ago, through funds generated by The Feast, enabled the purchase of a new, official, Our Lady of the Assumption statue, hand made, hand painted in Italy (where else!)

Of course, both statues will be carried. By the way, in the center of the picture is the original banner of the Maria S.S. (“santissima”) Dell'Assunta Society, which means Mary Most Holy of the Assumption Society, which also will be carried.

Here is some background on the society, its history and the creation of the Feast. Holy Rosary Church, considered the oldest Italian church in N.J. – it’s 125 years old – is one of the most beautiful churches I’ve seen, a treasure trove of hyper-realistic statuary mostly in bright, vivid colors.

For nine days, including the five of the feast and culminating in the feast of the Assumption on August 15th, parishioners hold a special mass and special Assumption Novena (Novena means nine) prayers. This year I attended one of these services for the first time. What a lovely, spiritual experience.

The organ playing was so robust, richly textured hymns. Some of the prayers were in Italian. Roman Catholic services may or may not be your thing, but this was local parish services at their best and really worth checking out regardless of your belief. I felt less alone, part of something bigger than myself, that I was one of many at a table stretching far into the past and far into the future.

On the 5th night, it rained. Flood alert torrents.

The weather held out and it usually rains one day. But as it got heavier and the hard core remained, there was dancing in the rain. The music was cancelled, only a few stands were opened. A DJ spun well known songs from the stage.

There was dancing in the streets, everyone was drenched and we said good bye to the Feast.